


Silver Lined

by yukittyzen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dong Sicheng-centric, Growing Up, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Set in America
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukittyzen/pseuds/yukittyzen
Summary: Sicheng works to regain the childhood he lost, Yuta and the rest of their lazy, dysfunctional high school research club are there to guide him along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the first chapter of my story! I'd like to add some notes before you continue on!
> 
> 1) This story deals with heavy topics such as family problems, homophobia, and depression. I will tag chapters accordingly, please proceed with caution, I don't want to hurt any of you.
> 
> 2) The boys in this story are all high school aged, please refrain from making sexual comments about them. It makes me uncomfortable.
> 
> 3) This story is pure fiction, aside from their basic traits such as names and small personality details, the characters remain separate from the NCTs.
> 
> With all this being said, thank you for giving my work a chance. Let's get it.

The plane ride to California is colder than any he’s been on in the past. Sicheng presses his forehead to the glass of the window, looking down at the lights of New York City illuminating the skyline. He’s above the city now, ascending into the clouds, the lights will be out of his sight soon. Sicheng curls up on the chair, holding his blanket over them and against his chest. He buries his face into the fabric to stop himself from sobbing.

 

When the flight attendant asks him if he wants a drink, Sicheng almost cries again. He’s never had to do these things himself, always having his mother place the orders for him. His mother isn’t here to help him this time, and Sicheng, with his throat dry, shakes his head to refuse a drink. He can’t speak, paralysed by fear of what lies beyond the doors of the plane.

 

Sicheng supposes it’s his own fault that he’s travelling miles away from the city he’s always called home. He should have known better than to push the limits with his short-tempered stepfather and his mother, who would always side with her husband. He hit the breaking point in their unstable family on his own, and he has no one to blame but himself.

 

Sicheng tries to sleep through the flight, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a blanket draped over his knees to hide the awkward way his knees are bent. Sicheng had long ago outgrown small plane seats, he shifts again hoping to find a comfortable position, before he gives it up for a lost cause.

 

He turns on his phone and checks for new messages, though he doesn’t find any, with his phone set on airplane mode. He does, however, find himself staring at his wallpaper, white numbers blocking a face on the screen. He doesn’t look away until the screen powers off on its own.  _ Renjun,  _ he thinks, and Sicheng is reminded of exactly how much of his heart he left in New York. He shuts his eyes four hours into the flight and lets the tears run free.

 

+

 

When Sicheng touches down in California, his uncle is already at the gate, patiently waiting for him.

 

He grabs his single suitcase from the conveyer belt and wheels it out the exit of the airport. He doesn’t bother to look around, too busy swallowing his nerves before meeting his uncle for the first time. He didn’t pack much from New York, just enough clothes to last a week and a couple of farewell presents from his friends, Kun and Taeil. Just the thought of them breaks Sicheng’s heart all over again, and it reminds him of the only thing that’s been on his mind since he departed. That, for the first time in a long time, Sicheng is truly alone. 

 

“Dong Sicheng?” An unfamiliar voice calls out to him, saying his name like a question. Sicheng turns around and sees a man standing before him with a smile on his face, his dimples dig into his cheeks. If this was the unfamiliar voice, then he definitely looks more familiar than he sounds. Sicheng can see his mother in the stranger, her narrow, beautiful eyes show on this man’s face, though void of anger and bitter regret for once. Sicheng swallows the lump in his throat and nods cautiously.

 

The man’s face breaks into a huge smile, one that puts Sicheng at ease. His mother smiled like that at Renjun, never at him, but Sicheng keeps it with the fondest of his memories. “My name is Zhang Yixing, I’m your uncle,” he says in a low voice, and Sicheng realises he’s speaking Chinese. Sicheng nods with a shy smile and Yixing chuckles. “Welcome to Oakland, Sicheng.”

 

Yixing brings him out into the parking lot, where leaves are scattered across the floor, fiery red mixed with warm brown colouring the pavement. Sicheng crushes the dry leaves under his shoes, jumping to avoid the small cracks on the sidewalk. If Yixing notices his childish antics, he doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to focus on searching the large parking lot. It’s as if he forgot where he parked his own car.

 

“Right, this way. Do you need help with that, by the way?” Yixing asks, gesturing towards Sicheng’s suitcase with one hand as he points left with his other hand. Sicheng looks down at his suitcase, before firmly shaking his head. He can’t take help from anyone now, he needs to learn how to be independent, how to live on his own. His stay with Yixing would be temporary anyway, Yixing would eventually get sick of him and send him right back to New York, and then no one would want him. Yixing shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, in English, confusing Sicheng with the sudden change of tongues, before he continues. “Haha, get it.  _ Suit,  _ like suitcase.”

 

Sicheng holds back a groan and instead settles for a polite laugh. He always assumed his mother’s whole family wasn’t able to speak English well, but somehow, he isn’t surprised that Yixing is fluent enough to make puns in English. Yixing looks delighted that Sicheng enjoyed his joke, and he looks so much like his mother that it almost breaks Sicheng to pieces once again.

 

After five minutes of walking, they reach a small, white car. Sicheng gratefully utters a quiet  _ thank you _ to Yixing, who helps him load his suitcase into the boot of his car.

 

Yixing plays Chinese music in the car, songs that Sicheng is unfamiliar with but finds himself enjoying the traditional sound of it. The tunes become background noise when Yixing begins speaking. Without turning to Sicheng, focusing on the road ahead instead, he hums a short tune before talking to him. “Are you scared?” He asks, turning the wheel with an indifferent expression on his face. “It’s normal to be.”

 

“I think so,” Sicheng answers softly, English mixing with his Mandarin. “I don’t know anyone.”

 

“You know me now,” Yixing offers, and though Sicheng met him just half an hour ago, the statement puts him at ease. “You’ll meet many people in Neo Tech too, ah, that’s the school we’ve enrolled you in.”

 

“Neo Tech,” Sicheng repeats, sounding out the syllables on his tongue. It’s a different sound from his school back in New York, but Sicheng finds himself liking the sound of Neo Tech better. “Neo Tech.”

 

“Yes,” Yixing says, turning the wheel again. The car slows down at the driveway of a double-storied house, walls painted an obnoxious blue. Yixing stops the car here, and this is his house. Sicheng’s heart stops for a moment, thinking of his youth, dreaming of living in an actual house instead of his stepfather’s modern, ugly apartment in downtown Manhattan. For a second, Sicheng feels excited rather than sad. “It’s one of the best in the area.”

 

Yixing helps him unload his suitcase from the boot and brings it into the house, where he shuts off the emergency intruder alert that turns on as he enters. He smiles sheepishly at the flashing lights. “Precautions.” Sicheng nods, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.

 

Yixing shows him to his bedroom on the second floor. It’s spacious, with enough space for Sicheng to walk around, a bed sits at one corner and a dresser in the other. Yixing smiles apologetically, his dimples digging deep into his cheek. “I know it’s not much, but the space is all yours.”

 

“It’s amazing, _niangjiu_ ,” Sicheng says with so much sincerity, after digging for the right term to address Yixing by. He settles with _niangjiu,_ uncle, which makes Yixing giggle. Sicheng raises his brow in confusion.

 

“I have never heard anyone say  _ niangjiu _ in all my years,” he explains, dumb grin still plastered across his face. “Just call me Yixing, you’re making me feel old.”

 

Sicheng nods, looking around the room again. Yixing heads out the door and closes it behind him, leaving Sicheng alone in the bedroom-  _ his  _ bedroom. He flops onto the bed, not bothering to clean up or unpack after the long travel. Instead, Sicheng battles the weight he feels pressing down on his chest. He takes out his phone and nervously turns it on, the flood of messages that comes is instant.

 

+

 

**Kun:** safe flight? text me when you land

 

**Sicheng:** I’m okay.

**Sicheng:** Thank you.

 

+

 

**Taeil:** did you not tell renjun you were leaving?

**Taeil:** he didn’t believe us when we said you were gone

 

**Sicheng:** Why are you making it sound like I died?

 

**Taeil:** you’re across the country

**Taeil:** may as well be dead

 

**Sicheng:** Ouch.

**Sicheng:** If Renjun knew any earlier, he would’ve fought his parents to keep me. I don’t want him to fight them. 

**Sicheng:** It’s all for him.

 

**Taeil:** have you considered therapy for your ridiculously traumatic childhood?

 

**Sicheng:** What’s that?

 

**Taeil:** nvm

 

+

 

Sicheng sighs,  _ flood of messages,  _ more like two texts from two of the only people who actually care about him. He turns off his phone and stares at the ceiling instead. The sky outside is already dark, Sicheng supposes that it’s been that long, he left New York in the morning.

 

He’s half tempted to call Renjun, to apologise for leaving him without notice. But he eventually decides against it, because if Renjun’s parents found out they were contacting each other, Renjun would get into trouble.

 

That’s the last thing Sicheng would want for his precious younger brother.

 

+

 

He joins Yixing for dinner downstairs, Yixing’s dinner consists of microwaved chicken sandwiches from a nearby convenience store and an orange coloured drink Sicheng is too afraid to touch. “Sorry,” Yixing apologises. “I’m not used to feeding growing kids. I tried, it’s better than my normal dinner.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Doritos and wine.”

 

Sicheng goes to bed on an almost empty stomach that night.

 

+

 

Sicheng lies in bed, staring at the ceiling in a dark room. He thinks of the day’s events, how in such a short span of time, he had been sent to the other side of America to live with his oddly young uncle who doesn’t know how to take care of children.

 

He also thinks of school, he’s well into fall now, and he starts in three days. He’ll be enrolling late, and Sicheng has never been good at making friends. He’ll be even worse when everyone around him knows each other and has already settled with their exclusive cliques. Sicheng feels his gut clench.

 

He shuts his eyes and forces himself to enter a restless night of sleep. Sicheng hopes to dream of a future that isn’t as dim as the present, but instead, finds his dreamscape blank and empty. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sicheng wakes up numbed from all his bitter regrets. He sits up and blearily looks around the room, before looking down at the blanket draped across his lower body. He yawns and rubs his eyes, scratching the back of his neck as he gets off the bed. The environment is foreign, and it throws Sicheng off for a moment, before he remembers the events of the previous day. Sicheng comes crashing back down to earth, the emptiness in his chest returning like a virus, spreading through his system all too rapidly.

 

He’s still in the crumpled clothes from yesterday, the smell of the plane seat lingering on his shirt. He feels filthy, and that makes sense, considering how long it’s been since he last took a shower. He drags his heavy legs across the floor and towards the bathroom just outside his room.

 

Yixing exits his own room, which is across from Sicheng’s, at the same time. He stares at Sicheng in confusion, before his eyes light up like he just remembered he wasn’t alone anymore. “Good morning,” Yixing greets, a smile blooming on his face. Sicheng smiles back awkwardly, and nods politely, hoping it’s enough. He’s never been keen on speaking, always preferring to keep to himself. His mother would say it was rude of him, but the second he opened his mouth, she would change her mind immediately. “Did you sleep well?”

 

Sicheng nods. “Thank you for providing me with this room, Yixing.” Yixing smiles, ruffling his hair, before trudging down the stairs sleepily, mumbling something about making breakfast. His Mandarin mixes with English, spoken with a slight accent, and Sicheng feels comforted by the knowledge that Yixing’s Mandarin may be as shabby as his own.

 

Sicheng showers quickly, afraid of using up too much of Yixing’s water supply. He emerges from the small shower cubicle feeling better than he has felt at all the past twenty-four hours. He dries his hair with a towel as he stares at the small patterns on the wall, yellow flowers spread across the tiles. Sicheng can almost feel the warmth radiating from the small, painted flowers. He decides he likes them.

 

He gently hangs the towel back on the rack and stretches, reaching for the ceiling, before exiting the bathroom. He cautiously walks down the stairs, like he’s afraid the wooden surface of each step would crumble beneath his weight. He ends up in the living room, where he sees Yixing seated at a large, white dining table, eating a plain piece of toast with a glass of more liquid Sicheng doesn’t want to know of. Yixing gestures towards him, before pointing at the chair across from his own, and Sicheng awkwardly shuffles over to the dining table. 

 

He takes a seat across from Yixing, who pushes a bowl over to Sicheng, one that he didn’t notice earlier. It’s a white bowl with cracked edges, but there’s a blooming, yellow flower on the side of it too. The flower must be Yixing’s favourite. Sicheng thanks him for the bowl and looks inside, a small pile of cornflakes sits in the bowl. It’s different from the bowls of rice and fish Sicheng is used to waking up to in New York.

 

“What do you like to eat?” Yixing asks, playing with an unused spoon that sits right beside his plate.  “I always thought of cornflakes as a rather neutral food, no one really hates it. It was a safe choice.”

 

“I don’t know,” Sicheng answers, his voice comes out mousey, but he thinks Yixing is used to it by now. “Ma used to make rice for me and Renjun every morning. I’ve never had anything else.”

 

“That’s sad,” Yixing sighs. “Everyone in this area eats avocado as if their lives depend on it. It’s fairly depressing.”

 

Sicheng scoops a small spoonful of cornflakes and moves it to his mouth. He eats it and chews as quietly as he possibly can, but the cornflakes crunch between his teeth. Somehow, the crunching noises overpower every sound in the room, until it’s the only thing Sicheng can hear.

 

“I was thinking of taking you around the area today,” Yixing muses, his long fingers tracing the rim of the glass of mystery liquid, skipping over the small cracks along the edges. Sicheng looks up from his bowl in interest, and Yixing’s eyes sparkle with the enthusiasm of a new idea. “Just so you know how to get around. We can get your textbooks too.”

 

Sicheng swallows cereal that’s turned soggy in his mouth, meeting Yixing’s eyes nervously. He smiles just a little as he nods, blinking rapidly. “I would like that.”

 

Yixing nods, before checking the clock hanging on the wall. Sicheng notes that the clock looks like it’s about to fall off the cheap plaster. In New York, it’s something his stepfather would have fixed instantly. Yixing doesn’t seem to care for the little details. “Does leaving at noon sound good to you?”

 

+

 

Sicheng finds himself strapped to the passenger seat of Yixing’s car once again, driving slowly through one of Oakland’s many suburbs. Sicheng had been raised in the heart of the city, where the pigeons flock and the lights never turn off. Driving by this quiet neighbourhood contrasts everything he’s ever known and everything he’s ever grown up with.

 

The music that plays from the car radio is more modern today, the station plays some tunes that even Sicheng can recognise. Popular Chinese songs his music teacher at the Chinese school of his youth used to play for the students to listen to. Sicheng never cared much for them back then, but listening to the familiar songs now fills him with a rush of nostalgia.

 

The high school, Sicheng’s high school, is not far from Yixing’s house. They reach in a matter of minutes, Sicheng thinks that on foot, it’ll probably take him no longer than fifteen minutes to reach the building. The building is roughly the same size as Sicheng’s previous school, the walls painted cream, but it stands alone. Unlike his school in New York, situated between tall concrete buildings, blending in with the rest of the city, this building stands alone. It’s surrounded by a large field of grass and a red track that loops around itself, consuming the grass patch.

 

There is a large sign just a few feet away from the entrance of the school. It looks like once upon a time, the metallic letters hanging on the sign would have read Neo Tech High School. Now, all that remains are two letters of the first word and the whole of the last. _N o_ _School,_ it makes Sicheng laugh, the letters definitely didn’t fall off on their own.

 

Yixing looks at him curiously, before following his eyes, landing on the broken sign. Yixing smiles too. “I don’t know if you can tell,” he says, breaking Sicheng out of his own thoughts. “But this suburb isn’t particularly rich. If something breaks, it stays broken, everything except the people.”

 

When Sicheng stares at him, blinking in confusion, Yixing elaborates further. “We’re a resilient bunch, Sicheng. That probably means nothing to you as a New York born-and-raised, but to us, it means the world.”

 

Sicheng nods, looking at the large field and squinting to make out the figures of boys in their mud-covered shirts, running after each other and falling onto the dirt, laughing. He thinks of how his mother would have murdered him if he so much as dared to dirty one of his neatly-ironed white dress shirts. He thinks of how different everything is now, across the country from the people he had always called his family.

 

“You can take a look around, you know?” Yixing says, as if he thinks that’s the cause of the sullen look on Sicheng’s face. “I’ll take care of the administrative work, you’re free to walk around. This is your school now.”

 

Sicheng swallows the lump of worry that built in his throat, smiling nervously at Yixing. He nods gratefully at Yixing, who claps him on the back before walking into the building. He is on his own now, looking over the school that he thinks will eventually grow to be a place he hates, a place he dreads reporting to every morning. Things in California may be completely different, but in some ways, they stay the same. His hatred for going out stays the same, his hatred for speaking to unfamiliar people and being overloaded with an unreasonable amount of work, that will always stay the same.

 

Sicheng looks around the area, watching the way wide bridges connect three buildings together, all to form the school. There are cracks in the cream paint colouring the walls, running up the building, and more cracks in the stone steps that lead to the entrance. In his city, these imperfections would have been fixed immediately, or perhaps have just been hidden behind a second layer of paint. In the suburbs of Oakland, however, things seem to stay imperfect, unchanged. 

 

There is a loud chime that resonates around the whole area, shaking Sicheng to the core, and students begin to pour out onto the field, while the boys on the field from earlier sullenly walk back into the building. He watches with interest, the way a girl’s knee-length plaid skirt sways in the wind, the way a boy strips off his jacket to reveal the collared white shirt beneath, he rolls up the sleeves. Sicheng, whose previous school barely emphasised a dress code, stares in awe at the mess of dark blue, the school’s uniform.

 

He looks down at his legs and tries to envision the black fabric of the pants over them, covering his knees and proudly telling the world which school he came from. He can’t envision it, because this place will never be a part of him, not when he had his whole life ripped from him to get here.

 

Sicheng walks slowly towards the field, hoping to get a closer look at his soon-to-be classmates. He walks forward with little control over his body, as if a string were pulling him forward, forcing him closer to the rest of the students. He nears the field, not quite stepping onto the red track, staying far enough from the heart of the student body, buzzing in animated conversation.

 

Yixing mentioned in passing that this school ran from elementary all the way up to the final year, and he can’t help but be envious. The knowledge that some of these students have been here their whole lives, never been forced into an unfamiliar environment thousands of miles away from home, strikes an ugly green poison through his heart. And though he stands right by a large crowd of people caught up in their own worlds, he feels isolated.

 

“You’re not from here, are you?” Sicheng almost jumps and ends up staring at the boy who seemed to materialise right beside him in shock. Standing a few inches taller than him and clad in the school’s blazer is a boy around his age, dimples that dig into his cheek with every word.

 

He nods slowly, trying to focus back on the track, but he can feel the other staring right at him. “I mean, of course, you’re not. It’s a Monday morning, and you’re not wearing the school uniform. You from BPHS?”

 

Sicheng shakes his head, not caring enough to try and understand what BPHS even is. “I’m from New York,” he answers quietly, so that the other has to lean in to hear him. 

 

“Ah, a tourist?”

 

“No,” Sicheng replies, but he wishes the opposite were true. That this is all just a quick holiday and he would be on the plane home in just a week. He trains his eyes to the floor. “Transfer student.”

 

“I thought so.” The boy smiles with his whole face, his eyes forming half-moons with his dimpled grin. “They don’t normally allow non-students on campus. My name is Jaehyun Jung.”

 

“D- Sicheng Dong,” he answers, disliking the way his name sounds arranged like that. In New York, he would have arranged his name normally, surname-first name, but from the way Jaehyun arranged his own, he assumes it’s not normal here. As much as Sicheng dislikes how new everything is, he figures he needs to adapt to all the changes soon, otherwise, he’ll never be able to accept being here.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Jaehyun says, sticking his hand out for Sicheng to shake. Sicheng cautiously takes Jaehyun’s palm in his own, feeling the warmth from contact seep into his skin. Jaehyun feels like home, from the way his warmth spreads across Sicheng’s body. “Can I expect to see you soon?”

 

“I doubt it,” Sicheng snorts, and Jaehyun’s face falls. “I’m a second year, you look way too old for that.”

 

“No way,” Jaehyun says, shaking his head. “I’m a second year too, hey, I don’t have classes for the next period, I can show you around.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Jaehyun links his arm with Sicheng’s and pulls him along. 

 

+

 

Jaehyun walks quickly, his long legs taking steps in big strides through the crowded hallways. The people around him, the other students, stay in small groups, bent around each other with hushed whispers. They barely look up from their circles, but when they do, their piercing gaze seems to stab right into Sicheng.

 

“They’re not the friendliest,” Jaehyun mumbles in a low tone, his hand still wrapped around Sicheng’s wrist. He digs his nails into Sicheng’s skin. “Most of us have been together since we were in diapers, so we’re not the best with new people.”

 

Sicheng nods, Jaehyun’s words hitting him deep within. Jaehyun smiles sympathetically, before tugging on Sicheng’s wrist once more. “Maybe we’ll come to see you as family too.”

 

Family, Sicheng feels the word ebb away at his heart, until nothing remains but a vast emptiness that leaves him feeling lonely. Family, Sicheng wonders if he’s ever really experienced it before, with his guard up against the world. 

 

Kun and Taeil were family, he thinks back to all the memories he shared with the two. A transfer student from Fujian, whom he helped guide around the first month, and his senior from the math club, who tutored him every day without fail. They were the closest Sicheng has ever come to family, and they’re not here. Sicheng left.

 

Then there’s Renjun, his thirteen-year-old little brother. Renjun, who to Sicheng, is dearer than anything in the world. Renjun, who loved to dance and paint, and who coloured Sicheng’s world. He isn’t here either, in this suburb of Oakland, it’s just him, his irresponsible uncle, and this kid, Jaehyun, he met half an hour ago.

 

Yet, calling them family sounds tempting. Perhaps because he’s alone and he wants something to cling onto, something to substitute what he left behind. Nothing could ever replace Kun, Taeil, and Renjun. Even his old lab partner Jungwoo, who Sicheng ended up paired with every year by some bizarre set of coincidences, his brother’s best friends Jaemin and Jeno. Sicheng didn’t know a lot of people, but he loved them dearly, and now they’re not here and Sicheng is by himself.

 

The memories ache, spreading a void around his heart, strong enough to ignore Jaehyun’s strong grip around his wrist. Sicheng lets himself get dragged down the hallways by Jaehyun, excitedly sharing about his favourite spots on campus, nice things to eat, Sicheng doesn’t catch the rest.

 

“Oi, Jung!” A voice calls out, and Jaehyun turns to face a group of boys leaning against the lockers. They don’t look Sicheng’s age, with their arms crossed and grins on their faces. “We need an eleventh player, you on board?”

 

“Sorry, I’m a little busy.” Jaehyun uses his other hand, the one not cutting off Sicheng’s circulation, to gesture at Sicheng. “New kid.”

 

“You sure? Nakamoto is playing today, you’re friends, right?” 

 

“Yeah, but again, I have stuff to do,” Jaehyun explains, his grip tightening again, and Sicheng sees his left eye twitch just slightly. “Maybe Johnny Suh would be willing.”

 

“Good idea, hey. You’re free to join us when you’re done playing around.”

 

“Thank you,” Jaehyun says, before he and Sicheng are walking away from them. Jaehyun’s head is down, eyebrows furrowed. “I hate them,” he mumbles. “They don’t bathe.”

 

Sicheng snorts as they approach the administration building, where Yixing walks out the door, multiple bulky books under his arm, Sicheng’s textbooks, and a clothes bag hanging off his shoulder. Sicheng is about to call out to him when Jaehyun beats him to it. “Yixing!” He shouts, shocking Sicheng. Yixing looks up in curiosity before his face breaks into a smile.

 

“Jaehyun.” They say each other’s names like a greeting, a substitute from the curt hello Sicheng was so used to. Yixing’s eyes flit to Sicheng, and his eyebrows raise slightly. “Ah, hello, Sicheng. I’m done with the admin work.”

 

+

 

Sicheng leaves Jaehyun when the bell rings for his next class, Jaehyun pouts and has Sicheng promise to see him on the first day of school. He watches Jaehyun cradle a heavy-looking World History textbook to his chest as he walks with heavy feet to a nearby classroom. He disappears behind the door.

 

Tiredly, Sicheng walks back to the car with Yixing, who plays with his car keys in his fingers. He spins them around a few times, before unlocking the car and getting into the driver seat, strapping on his seatbelt.

 

“Had a good day?” Yixing asks, starting up the engine.

 

“Uneventful,” Sicheng mumbles in response. “How do you know Jaehyun?”

 

“Sicheng, this place has a population of two thousand people. You’ll know everyone at some point,” Yixing responds, eyes trained on the road. Sicheng feels safe with Yixing behind the wheel, because it’s nothing like his stepfather’s angry yelling as he swerved lanes and ran over fat pigeons that got in his way. Yixing actually cares about road safety, stops when he sees small ducks crossing the street, minds traffic lights, and signals properly. Yixing may be a mess at home, but at least he cared enough to appear presentable in public. 

 

“Do you think you’ll like it here?” Yixing asks, pulling up into his driveway, parking carefully between the self-painted lines. 

 

“I don’t have a choice,” Sicheng replies, without thinking of his words.

 

“Of course you do.” Yixing gets out of the car. “Make your own story, Sicheng. You don’t have to listen to your parents anymore.”

 

+

 

**Kun:** hey cheng

**Kun:** how was the first day?

 

**Sicheng:** It was okay.

**Sicheng:** It could have been worse.

 

**Kun:** made any new friends?

 

**Sicheng:** As if, you know me.

 

**Kun:** lol thought so

**Kun:** we had our first lab today, jungwoo’s bummed lol

**Kun:** you have been lab partners for how many years?

 

**Sicheng:** Ever since we were ten, about five years? Why?

 

**Kun:** he said you broke the streak KSKSJSKSK

 

**Sicheng:** JKSJSKSKSK

**Sicheng:** Tell him I’m sorry.

 

**Kun:** will do

 

+

 

**Jungwoo:** traitor

**Jungwoo:** you abandoned me

 

**Sicheng:** Don’t you have physics work to do?

 

**Jungwoo:** fcuk youu

**Jungwoo:** Taeil forced me to join the math society in your place.

**Jungwoo:** MATH.

**Jungwoo:** i don’t even know how to use the paythagnren thereom 

 

**Sicheng:** The what?

 

**Jungwoo:** pythagnorom theoreom

 

**Sicheng:** Please learn how to spell.

**Sicheng:** This is exactly why we failed the midterm last year, you couldn’t spell anything!

 

**Jungwoo:** noted

 

**Jungwoo has blocked you.**

 

+

 

Sicheng stares blankly at the screen, internally wondering how long it will take for his friends back home to forget him. How long it will take for his message inbox to be empty and void of any messages from them.

 

Yixing knocks on his door. “Sicheng,” he calls out from outside the door. “You good in there?”

 

“Yes,” Sicheng replies, and he wishes it were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Sicheng doesn’t remember his promise to meet Jaehyun until he sees the other running down the hallway.

 

Sicheng is clad in the school uniform, carrying his books for the first day in a bag, sling around his shoulder. He feels out of place, looking around at dozens of unfamiliar faces. The students in his school back home were just as unrecognisable, too many of them for Sicheng to match face to name, but at least he was never alone. Despite being a grade above him, Kun always walked with him on the trip to school. Taeil, two grades above them, would meet them for lunch. Jungwoo would wait for Sicheng during labs, helping Sicheng get a pair of safety glasses from the cabinet at the back.

 

School in New York was just as unfamiliar to Sicheng, but at least he had his people. He had a handful of friends he knew well and back then, that was enough. Now that he looks around the wide hallways, he realises that he can barely recall the boy from two days before. In the suburbs of Oakland, he only knows Yixing.

 

This school doesn’t have lockers, or at least, not a lot of them. Sicheng never received a number, so he assumes that in the few walls of lockers, none of them are his. He sees that the majority of the lockers are used as support for boys with bad posture, leaning against them to talk to their friends, shuffling away when someone comes close to try and open their own. No one speaks outside their small cliques, but Sicheng can feel the comfortable air between everyone. Jaehyun did say most of them have known each other for years, of course they would be comfortable.

 

The bell rings and people begin entering the small, wooden doors scattered along the wall, arranged in no particular order. Sicheng blinks at everything in confusion before he pulls out the small sheet of paper Yixing passed him in the morning, the sheet that reads his class number. Much to Sicheng’s confusion, there is only one class number scrawled on the paper, almost unreadable. _How would he know where to go after first period?_

 

“Late again, Jung?” Sicheng turns around and he catches sight of Jaehyun, stopping in his tracks, right before a taller boy. The unknown boy has his eyebrows raised in amusement as he watches Jaehyun panting, tips of his ears turning red from running. “If you weren’t my friend, I’d probably be sending you to the office again.”

 

“Knock it off, Doyoung,” Jaehyun growls, standing up and leaning against the wall for support. He straightens his back and faces Doyoung, standing just an inch or two shorter.

 

Doyoung chuckles, before he turns around and looks at Sicheng, standing like an idiot in the middle of an empty hall, five minutes past the bell ringing. “Seems we have another latecomer.”

 

“Sicheng!” Jaehyun exclaims excitedly, he almost runs up to him like an energetic puppy, but stops himself. “You remember me right? I’m Jaehyun!”

 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Sicheng mumbles in response, watching Jaehyun’s expression light up. “I’m sorry but I don’t really know how to get to class.”

 

“You’re new,” Doyoung muses, and Sicheng gets a good look at him as he faces him. Doyoung carries himself well, his hair neat and away from his eyes, his tie is straight and centered perfectly. Sicheng sees the top paper in his plastic binder he carries on one arm and sees the perfect test score scribbled across it in red ink. There is a bright sparkle in his eyes as he speaks in a calm voice. To put it simply, Doyoung is perfect. “Second year? Just follow Jaehyun, there is only one second year class.”

 

+

 

“Who was that?” Sicheng asks, thinking of Doyoung’s neat blazer, polished shoes, and styled hair. “He was terrifying.”

 

“Right?” Jaehyun laughs, looking back over his shoulders to make sure Doyoung isn’t tailing them. “That’s Doyoung, he’s a third year, my friend.”

 

“Friend, huh,” Sicheng mumbles mostly to himself as they approach the final door in the hallway. Jaehyun extends his arm out and pushes it open with a single shove. The door flies open and reveals about twenty or thirty students staring at them, and one exasperated teacher at the front of the classroom.

 

“Jaehyun Jung, can you please be on time for once?” The teacher asks, exhausted, some students laugh quietly. The majority, however, state at Sicheng like he’s grown a second head.

 

“Sorry, Sir,” Jaehyun apologises without shame. “I found Sicheng in the hallway, had to help him.”

 

“You’ve never helped anyone before.” The teacher rolls his eyes, but Sicheng can recognise the fondness behind it, and evidently, so can Jaehyun, who grins like a cheshire cat. The teacher turns his attention to Sicheng with a kind smile. “Hello, Sicheng, we’ve been expecting you for a few days now.”

 

Sicheng smiles and thanks the teacher politely, before Jaehyun drags him over to an desk at the corner of the room. He takes a seat in the desk right beside an empty one, and shoves his books in a compartment under the table. Sicheng takes a seat and looks under the table too, noting the shelf that hangs below the desk, other students have filled theirs with books.

 

“Our teacher’s name is Mr. Kim, Junmyeon Kim. He teaches Maths, and he tutors me in Korean so I won’t disappoint my parents by being monolingual,” Jaehyun explains, rummaging through a stack of paper under his desk. He finally victoriously pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper and sets it down on his table, smoothing the creased edges against the surface. “He’s been our homeroom teacher for five years, we adore him.”

 

 _Five years,_ Sicheng can barely comprehend how long that is, because they are fifteen, almost sixteen. This teacher has been teaching this same bunch of students for a third of their lives, Sicheng wonders if he’ll ever be able to fit in with this group of people who, he keeps getting reminded, have known each other forever. He stares down at the dirty, scratched table in front of him. The once smooth surface has symbols carved into it, from initials connected by hearts to random numbers. Sicheng traces over the carvings gently.

 

“They don’t fix those,” Jaehyun whispers with a shrug. “Our school is dirt poor, did you notice the sign outside?”

 

Sicheng nods, remembering the crumbling sign just outside the school building. He smiles in its memory. Sicheng hopes he won’t be one of the things in the area that stay damaged, broken, he hopes he’ll be okay soon.

 

+

 

“Lunch break!” Jaehyun cheers happily after another teacher, another Mr. Kim, dismisses them for the day. “Lunch break, club, and then! To freedom!”

 

“Club?” Sicheng asks, sticking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he follows Jaehyun down the hallways. He pokes his tongue around his mouth, trying to get accustomed to speaking to Jaehyun with more than just simple words.

 

“I’m in this research club,” Jaehyun yaps, not caring whether Sicheng looks interested in what he has to say or not. Sicheng is interested, it just doesn’t show on his face. “It’s compulsory to have a club here, my friend Johnny started this club to research on East Asian American culture. We don’t actually do any work, but Taeyong writes a report every semester to convince the administration we have been researching. Taeyong is really smart, admin falls for it all the time.”

 

“Sounds cool,” Sicheng mumbles in response, training his eyes to the ground. He drags his sneakers across the tiled floor. “Does the school have a math club?”

 

Jaehyun looks horrified.

 

“Rather than math, why don’t you join my club,” Jaehyun laughs, still sounding bewildered that Sicheng would show any interest in that demonic subject. “Or at least, drop by and say hi. You fit the whole criteria! You’re East Asian!”

 

Sicheng tries to stifle his giggles, but one escapes his nose in the form of a soft snort. “Math is beautiful, Jaehyun.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Jaehyun grumbles, pouting just slightly. Not long after, his face lights up again with a big smile, and Sicheng wonders how he can change moods so quickly. “So, about my club invite…”

 

+

 

Jaehyun drags Sicheng to a far corner of the school as soon as their last class ends, rambling. “There’s six of us in this club, they’re all older than us. Johnny, Taeyong, Ten, Doyoung, hey you remember him right? Then, there’s Yuta, but you might not see him so much.”

 

“Doyoung? The scary one from the hall?” Sicheng asks quietly, and Jaehyun chuckles, nodding. He hits Sicheng on the back with a reassuring clap. “And this Yuta guy, why won’t I see him?”

 

“Yuta cuts class every other day,” Jaehyun sighs dramatically, fondness sparkling in his smiley eyes. “He’s a fourth year, Taeyong thought for sure he would stop skipping this year to focus on college _apps._ He didn’t, we think he has a secret girlfriend outside school.”

 

“Oh.” Sicheng finds himself at a loss for words as they approach a door at the end of the hall. In New York, skipping school was a common activity, though Sicheng himself would have rather died than get caught cutting. It seems to be the same here, there will always be those kinds of people. He grows increasingly wary, worried of the kinds of people he would have to interact with, as Jaehyun knocks on the door.

 

“It’s Jaehyun!” Jaehyun calls out, and as the person on the other side of the door unlocks it, Sicheng finds himself staring at the worn down door. The lock is rusted, once a bright silver, it’s dull and brown now. The door opens slowly, and Sicheng sees someone staring at them through the cracks in the side of the door.

 

“Ten!” Jaehyun cheers and Ten grins, flinging the door open. He stands an inch or two shorter than them both, a big smile on his face. He smiles excitedly at Jaehyun, before his eyes flit over to Sicheng, and his smile drops. He looks scarier this way, Sicheng is grateful he didn’t eat his disgusting cafeteria lunch. His stomach lurches as he averts his gaze from Ten’s cold stare. “Ten, don’t look at him like that!”

 

“Who are you?” Ten asks wearily, looking back to Jaehyun. Sicheng bites his lip and stares down at the floor, silently. Ten clicks his tongue. “Answer me.”

 

“Hey, hey, what’s going on out here.” Doyoung stands just behind Ten, he’s not wearing his blazer anymore, and his tie has been loosened. It’s like seeing a new side of him, Sicheng watches him run his hands into his neat hair, messing it up. Ten doesn’t turn to face Doyoung, he tightens his grip around the frame of the door and clenches his free fist. “Oh, hey Jaehyun. Nice to meet you again.” He hesitates, his eyes rolling back slightly, recalling the morning. “Sicheng, right?”

 

“You know him?” Ten asks, his entire body is trembling now, he still refuses to turn and talk to Doyoung face-to-face. Doyoung rolls his eyes, lips pressed into a tight smile.

 

“Jaehyun, Sicheng. Come on in, ignore the grumpy one out here.” He pushes Ten aside and gently places his hand on Jaehyun’s back, guiding him into the room despite Ten, looking like he had all the air punched out of his lungs.

 

Sicheng looks up once he’s past the door, and sees two other unfamiliar faces, sitting across each other at a table in the corner of the small room. One leg of the table is propped up by a thin magazine, and their hands are stretched across the glossy wooden surface of it, fingers intertwined. Doyoung clears his throat and the two look up from the sheets of paper scattered across the table, one of them disentangles their fingers and pulls his hand back sharply.

 

“Hello, Jaehyun,” The boy who pulled his hand away greets, smiling as the other stares at his own hand, still limp on the tabletop. “Brought a friend today?”

 

Jaehyun nods. “Sicheng Dong, transfer student from New York. He’s my new classmate and look! He’s Chinese, I had to bring him along with me!”

 

“Hello, Sicheng. My name is John, you can call me Johnny,” Johnny says with a warm smile, offering his hand out for Sicheng to shake. Sicheng smiles in return, trying to swallow down the vile taste in his mouth from remembering Ten’s glare. He takes Johnny’s bigger hand in his own and nods just slightly, his acknowledgement.

 

“I’m Taeyong,” The other offers, nodding his head. He doesn’t offer his hand to Sicheng, so Sicheng continues standing awkwardly, with all the attention in the room on him. Taeyong clears his throat. “You seem to know Ten and Doyoung already, why don’t you settle down? You can do whatever you want the next two hours.”

 

“Is there no actual work?” Sicheng asks, bewildered. Ten closes the door with a loud slam.

 

“No, not really.” Johnny runs his fingers through his hair, his other hand seems to have found its way back to Taeyong’s. The tips of Johnny’s fingers rest gently over Taeyong’s knuckles. “It’s do-whatever-you-want time, no rules.”

 

+

 

“Where the hell is Yuta,” Doyoung asks, looking up from a sheet of paper scrawled in messy characters. “This Japanese paper is way above my level.”

 

Johnny takes out his cell phone and types something quickly, from Sicheng’s angle, he can make out the message screen. “Yuta will be here in a moment.”

 

“Will he really?” Ten asks, he seems to have calmed down from his earlier outburst. That alone is enough to relieve Sicheng of all his worries. “He never comes, I–”

 

Ten stops speaking when something hits against the door, heavier than someone’s fist. “Ow, fuck!” Someone curses outside. “John Jun Suh, open this fucking door!”

 

“Oh boy,” Johnny sighs deeply, he stands from his seat and pulls his hand away from Taeyong again, something he’s done an uncountable number of times across the day. He shuffles to the door, ignoring the person on the other side’s constant knocking. “I’m coming, Yuta.”

 

Taeyong leans over to Doyoung and whispers something Sicheng barely catches, but it sends them both into soft giggles. “That’s what his secret girlfriend said.” Sicheng smiles too.

 

Johnny unlocks the door and, honestly, Sicheng wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. The way everyone spoke of Yuta had him imagining some tall, buff anti-hero with a girl on his arms and a better-than-you air around him. But the boy that stands in front of the door is not only shorter and skinnier than Johnny, he’s also the most average looking person Sicheng has ever seen, and this is after he spent 12 years around New Yorkers.

 

“Yuta,” Ten greets with a mischievous grin. “The doors aren’t automatic you know, you actually have to open them.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Tenten,” Yuta responds, an easy smile on his face. “You know I’m here for Doyoung only.”

 

“That hurts,” Taeyong says, and Sicheng can feel so much warmth and comfort around the room. He supposes this is what Jaehyun meant by family, this warm feeling of security and safety. Friendship.

 

Sicheng longs for it too.

 

“Helloooo,” Yuta suddenly greets, dragging the _o_ and Sicheng freezes, looking around the room. Everyone is staring at Yuta as he shuffles over to him. “Are you new around here? I don’t think I know you. My name is Yuta Nakamoto, senior.”

 

“Sicheng Dong,” Sicheng responds softly. “Yes, I’m new.”

 

“It’s good to meet you,” Yuta says a little too enthusiastically, offering his hand to Sicheng with a bright smile. Sicheng’s breath catches in his throat. He’s dazzling, to say the least, and Sicheng scratches off all his opinions on Yuta looking average.

 

Yuta takes his hand back and shoves it into his pocket, Sicheng takes a good look at him as he walks towards Doyoung to help him with his Japanese assignment. Yuta leans over Doyoung’s seated figure, chest against his back as he narrows his eyes and reads the words out slowly to Doyoung. He mumbles words that Sicheng is sure he’s heard before, in an anime of his childhood, perhaps. His black pants stop a bit above his ankles and hug his thighs tightly, like they haven’t been changed since he was a freshman. His blazer rests folded over one shoulder, being carried rather than worn, and his white dress shirt is stained in muddy footprints and acrylic paint. Standing so close to Doyoung, Sicheng can see the contrast between Doyoung’s neater image and Yuta’s messier one.

 

Jaehyun slides over next to him, looping his arm around Sicheng’s shoulder. Sicheng would usually pull away, uncomfortable, but he decides against it when Jaehyun buries his face into Sicheng’s shoulder, tired. “I hate school,” he mumbles, voice muffled by Sicheng’s shirt. Sicheng can feel his warm breath through the sleeves. “But if not for school, I never would’ve met my family, so I think it’s all worth it.”

 

“You’ll love it here,” Jaehyun assures him confidently, moving his face away from Sicheng’s shoulder. There’s an unrecognisable look in his eyes as he purses his lip. “So, please, stay. I hate being the youngest.”

 

“Is that your only reason for wanting me here,” Sicheng asks in disbelief.

 

Jaehyun grins. “That, and the fact that you’re Yixing’s nephew,” he says cheekily. “Being your best friend means I’ll get access to the bags of unsold candy from his store. I would never pass up an opportunity like that.”

 

“You’re using me,” Sicheng complains.

 

“At least I’m being transparent about it,” Jaehyun shrugs and then laughs when Sicheng goes in to hit him lightly on the wrist.

 

Maybe this’ll work out, Sicheng hopes it will.

 

+

 

Sicheng checks his phone and finds nothing, no new notifications, it seems Kun and Taeil are busy today, or perhaps they had an early night. They _are_ three hours ahead, after all. An endless number of excuses to justify his empty inbox run through his head. He switches off his phone and shoves it into his back pocket.

 

He walks aimlessly, before stopping for a traffic light. He stares down at the paved walkways, the stone covered in cracks, with small plants growing through them. Sicheng spots a yellow flower that reminds him of the ones sitting Yixing’s bathroom walls, and then a few purple ones. They stand out against the bright green grass and the setting sun.

 

Nearby, someone uses their foot to dig up a shallow amount of the earth. Sicheng turns and watches someone, their face shielded by shadows from the odd angle of sunlight. They look up and Sicheng could recognise those big eyes reflecting orange rays of sunlight anywhere. Yuta meets his eye briefly and smiles, before he moves out of the shadowed area to walk across the road. The traffic lights have changed for them.

 

Sicheng watches Yuta disappear down an alleyway shortly after and a small part of him is tempted to follow the older. He swallows down the temptation, knowing Yuta wouldn’t appreciate being followed in the slightest, and continues on his way home.

 

The sun sets a few minutes earlier than usual that day, Sicheng is already shrouded in darkness by the time he reaches Yixing’s front door. Winter is definitely approaching.

 

+

 

Yixing is out for the night, but he leaves rice in the rice cooker for Sicheng, a post it note on the counter to tell him he can find fish in the microwave. Sicheng sets his placemat down and eats, checking his phone again. He smiles at the sight of a notification from Taeil and checks it.

 

 **Taeil:** hey bro

 **Taeil:** how are things going, made any friends?

 

 **Sicheng:** Jaehyun (that’s my classmate) dragged me to his club today.

 **Sicheng:** I wouldn’t consider them friends and I’m pretty sure one of them hates me.

 

 **Taeil:** WHAAAAAAAT

 **Taeil:** who could EVER hate you cheng?

 

 **Sicheng:** My parents.

 

 **Taeil:** bro r u ok

 

 **Sicheng:** I’m fine.

 **Sicheng:** Like I said, they’re not my friends, but I have a good feeling about this.

 **Sicheng:** Maybe it won’t be that bad.

 

 **Taeil:** attaboy

 **Taeil:** i gotta go now mom is making her midnight rounds to check if her babies are asleep -_-

 **Taeil:** kun says hi btw he told me he got his phone confiscated and to text you to tell you he misses you

 

Sicheng laughs, nostalgia filling his heart, threatening to burst it open.

 

 **Sicheng:** Tell him I miss him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there, sorry it took me FOREVER to write this but i’m back now, hopefully i’ll be able to update a little more have a nice day thank u for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, the first chapter is done! This one goes to my amazing beta reader (read: validator and the source of my confidence), [Riki!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyuta/pseuds/honeyuta) I really couldn't do anything without you, I love you so much
> 
> Second, I'm [yukittyzen](https://twitter.com/yukittyzen) on twitter and [nctnyt](https://curiouscat.me/nctnyt) on curiouscat! Leave me something to read :D. Thank you!


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